


Glass Thorns

by Hell-To-The-Feck-No (MemjiPop)



Category: freeform - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16019411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemjiPop/pseuds/Hell-To-The-Feck-No
Summary: I hate this.





	Glass Thorns

A sharp blade to the throat shouldn’t be as exciting as it is, but really considering their hobby, Bailey shouldn’t be surprised with anything anymore. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t even flinch when his skull cracks against the dry wall of the cheap hotel room. Of course neither of them suggested their homes, neither wants their lovers to see this, but it isn’t cheating, not really – Because you have to love someone, or even _like_ them for that and there’s not even civility here. Just pure, unbridled hate and it’s suffocating. The knife just barely slicing into pale skin provides enough of a sting to keep covered eyes fixed onto their partner, teeth biting into his bottom lip with the intent to tear and devour. They grunt and growl at each other like wild animals, at some point the taste of copper has them both on edge and scissors pressed into Monkscloak’s belly are a warning that they better pick up the pace, boredom might just be the match needed to really like a dangerous fuse.

 

Somewhere in the midst of their violent fight towards the bed, clothes are torn and ripped and thrown away like trash. It doesn’t take long for Bailey to be shoved down like a doll, bouncing up from the mattress with a venomous snarl. The older of the two tsks like he’s scolding a child and sighs, shaking his head. They don’t speak to each other, it’s all part of the battle, first to give in loses and lives could be genuinely at risk here. That doesn’t mean Bailey is going to take this lying down, however. The scissors clutched in his hand, he lunges at the brunette and buries the tip into the bone of his hip. Monkscloak howls, jumping back, but only for a moment before Bailey’s throat is in his rough hand and he squeezes, that blade coming up to skim along the younger’s side, reminding him he better play nice if he still wants to walk out of here all pretty for his lover.

 

Bailey settles somewhat and grins, bringing the bloodied metal to his lips. Monkscloak feels sick watching the other lap at the red, but two can play at that game. The brunette wants to rip that damn ribbon from Bailey’s face, because he knows that’s a perfect way to wipe that smirk off his face. But he won’t, it’s a line he won’t cross. Bailey won’t drag Rose’s name into this and Monkscloak won’t touch the ribbon. They have that at least. But what they don’t have is time so of course everything goes back to being a frenzied blur of teeth and blades and blood. Bailey wishes he didn’t make such a pitiful sound when he’s forced open, but the all the air is punches out of his lungs so suddenly, he wishes he could keep his spine flat on the cheap sheets or stop his knuckles from going to white with the way they grip at whatever in reach.

 

To say it hurts is understatement, its _agony_. There’s no prep, no lubricant, nothing and it’s excruciating, but it’s exactly what they want. _Pain_. Ungodly pain to match the seething hate, black and visceral and poisoning. Monkscloak gets too close and sharp teeth sink into his neck and hands dig into his shoulder blade. The cold metal of scissors and a knife against heated skin are forgotten in favour of tearing into each other with bare hands. Wounds are pried open with dull nails, blood is drawn and vicious marks are left behind, and it’s almost comforting. Neither can feel, not in the sense they know they should, the battle scars are just fleeting reminders that they _are_ in fact alive. That train of thought is crashed immediately but the electricity burning up Bailey’s spine and the acidic tears burning the corners of his eyes. His ribbon is coming lose and panic is rising but he can’t think, he can’t think, he can’t – It’s gone. Green met blue and he hates it, Bailey wants it to stop. Monkscloak looks away and Bailey is something like grateful for that. His hold loosens the palm around his throat glides to the back of his head. He ends up in Monkscloak’s lap, holding each other and kissing, like they’re lovers and it makes them both sick to think about. But they don’t stop it, they can’t – Not now. It comes to a soft end soon, calling names that don’t belong to each other quietly, stealing a few pecks just while they’re lost in the afterglow and can pretend. They don’t even look at each other afterwards. Monkscloak leaves first, then Bailey, they go home and neither can touch their respective lovers, not until they’ve obsessively scrubbed away all the evidence they can. Rose doesn’t care, nor does Seiichi, but _they_ do. But with such a strong hate for each other –

 

Bailey shouldn’t be surprised anymore.


End file.
